Together
by Ouaysis
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry has a hard time adjusting to life as a survivor. But with Ginny at his side and the family that he's found in Ron and Hermione, he knows they'll get through it all together. Oneshot.


Ginny found him the day after the battle in his old dormitory. Harry sat on the sill of a window, his legs pulled up to his chest as he stared out at the grounds.

"Harry?" She spoke as softly as she could while still being heard.

Suddenly he was on his feet, wand and pointed at her and poised to strike. She lifted her arms to her side, showing him she wasn't armed.

"It's just me," she murmured, stepping closer, her heart aching at the wild look in his emerald eyes.

His shoulders relaxed, his wand dropping to his side as his eyes closed and he sucked in a ragged breath. When he opened them again she was standing in front of him, longing to reach out but unsure of his reaction. Harry's lips parted, likely to utter an apology, but she shook her head.

"You don't need to apologize."

He closed the space between them, not quite smiling, but with a softened expression. Ginny felt his rough, dirt-and-blood covered hand brush her cheek. She leaned in to his touch, unable to resist. And then his arms were sliding around her, his face buried in her mused, tangled, dirty hair. Ginny clung to him, gathering fistfuls of his shirt in her hands, unwilling to loosen her vice-like grip.

How many times had she imagined this? How many times had she dreaded it would never happen? Tears pricked at her eyes, but she pushed them away. He didn't need her tears and neither did she. Finally, tentatively, their hold on each other slackened. She reached up, placing her palm on his bloody, grimy cheek.

"We're going to Muriel's. Kingsley—what's left of the Order—they'll stay, keep an eye on—" Her words faltered as she thought of Fred's lifeless body, never to laugh again. Swallowing hard, she continued, "—on those who can't leave yet."

Harry simply nodded.

"Ron – Hermione, they wanted to wait for you," she explained, "but I convinced them to go on before us. We need to go, Harry. They'll start to worry soon."

His only response was another nod. The vague look in his eyes worried her. She bit her lip, his silence more than a little perturbing.

"Okay," she said gently, taking his hand and starting down the stairs and through the common room.

They travelled wordlessly through the damaged castle. It was hard to believe. Hogwarts had always seemed so impenetrable. Then again, so had Dumbledore. Survivors of the battle still littered the castle, rummaging through the rubble, tending to those who were too wounded to leave yet. A few of them spotted the battered pair, nodding a greeting. Ginny returned the nod, while Harry, his head down, simply stared at the ground.

In the late-evening sun the toll of Voldemort and his forces of evil were exposed even more viciously. Chunks of stone littered the ground, accompanied by corpses of giant spiders, craters from stray curses, and patches of burned, blackened grass. One of the gates at the entrance was half bent inwards, clinging to it's stone support by a single hinge. It seemed like hours before they were far enough away to Apparate. Her parents had discovered earlier that the ancient magic preventing Apparation within the grounds had apparently not been affected during the battle.

"We're Apparating," Ginny instructed Harry, her stomach churning nervously at his lack of verbal response. "Ready?"

Another nod. Taking in a deep breath, she gripped him tightly and spun. They landed softly in Muriel's garden. She lurched forward a but, but Harry reached out to steady her.

"Thanks," she said softly. "C'mon, the others are waiting."

Bill and Fleur had gone to Shell Cottage with George, to give him some space to morn his twin alone. Everyone else waited anxiously in Muriel's sitting room. Ginny was still worried about Harry's state, unsure of how the others would affect him. She didn't want to overwhelm him. She paused outside the sitting room, in the hallway.

"Stay here," she murmured. His eyes met hers and she knew he understood. Was that gratitude she saw? Squeezing his hand in reassurance, she hesitated a long moment before releasing it and stepping into the room.

"An. Ginevra, you've finally returned." Muriel was the first to speak.

Ginny nodded, teeth plucking at her bottom lip as her eyes scanned the room.

"Yes. We both are, but uh…" What could she say? Her eyes met Hermione's, then locked with Ron's. "Harry need some space. For…a bit."

Hermione and Ron immediately stood.

"We'll show him upstairs," he brother said, sharing a look with Hermione.

"Be sure to tell him dinner's in an hour," Muriel instructed matter-of-factly.

Ron grunted, sharing a look with his sister as he passed her. Ginny crossed the room to sink down beside her mother. She'd never seen Harry like this. So…desolate. She felt so helpless. Her mother slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, terrified, as she curled into her mother's side.

"He'll come round," Molly assured her in a voice thick with sadness. "He's been through a lot. We…we all have."

Silent tears fell from Molly's eyes. For her son. For their friends. For all that they had lost. But mostly for her son. Ginny squeezed her mother's hand in silent support.

Ron and Hermione rejoined them not much later. Both exchanged uncertain looks with Ginny. They were worried, too.

"He's in the shower," Ron announced, sounding less anxious than his look had betrayed. "Should be down in a bit."

But he wasn't. In fact, he didn't come down for nearly three days. Three long, terrible days. Mum and Dad were splitting their time between here and Shell Cottage, to be with George to help as much as they could. To mourn together. Ron and Hermione took turns carrying trays up to the room Harry was staying in for each meal, undoubtedly coaxing him to eat something.

Hermione had the tray prepared on the third night, was making to pick it up, when Ginny stepped beside her. She had to at least try.

"Wait."

Hermione's brown eyes met her own, curious.

"Can I? Please?"

Her friend hesitated for just a moment. Then she stepped away and let Ginny pick up the tray. She put a comforting hand on her shoulder before walking away. She took in a deep, steadying breath and ascended the grand staircase. Just before she reached his room, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and then the soft creak of another opening a moment later. At least she knew he was moving about.

"Knock, knock," she said as she approached the cracked-open bedroom door. Ginny pushed it open with her back, careful not to spill any of the tray's contents, and nearly dropped the whole thing when she looked up.

Harry stood before her, half dressed, his forearms ripping as he buttoned his jeans. His black hair was sleek and wet from a shower.

"I – er, sorry –" she muttered, feeling a blush creeping over her neck, her cheeks. Hurrying forward, she placed the tray on the nearby dresser before she lost her grip.

Though still silent, Harry's expression softened, much the same as it had when she found him in Gryffindor tower. Recovering from her shock, Ginny stepped forward, her eyes hungrily taking him in. There was no more Voldemort, no more danger, no more reason why they had to be apart, not unless—_no_, she fought against the doubts. He wasn't avoiding her. He just need time. Like Mum said.

Her eyes caught sight of a scar, oval-shaped and jagged, almost directly over his heart. Plenty others marked his arms, his shoulders, his torso. Some, she knew, were from minor Quidditch injuries. But most were evidence of the battle, of the war, that he had somehow survived. She had a few herself. _Unseen_ _ones_? Without thinking, she reached out, tracing two fingers over the oval-like scar on his chest.

"Oh, Harry…" she murmured, fighting back the tears.

He seemed to come alive at her touch. The numbness had slowly been dissipating, each day becoming a little less hazy. But now, with Ginny's warm hand against his skin, it was like the rest of the fog evaporated. His body trembled with feeling, with longing.

"I can't imagine…" she continued, shaking her head. "You had to be so strong. So brave."

Harry relished her warm skin on his chest, felt a warmth radiating through him. Since the Battle had ended he was unable to think, to feel, to move against the numbing pain. Now he took in a deep breath, the familiar, comforting flowery scent of Ginny filling his lungs. He reached for her, framing her face gently with both his hands. Her brown eyes looked up, burning, to meet his. He shook his head, just a bit.

"You're the strongest person I know." His voice was hoarse, rusty from days of disuse.

Ginny's face split into a soft, relieved smile. She slipped her hands over his, her thumbs brushing against the back of his hands.

"You sacrificed yourself for us. Like a bloody, noble, fool."

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his face.

"I did what I had to," he replied, pressing his forehead to hers and closing his eyes, taking in her presence.

"I know."

Her grip tightened, ever so slightly. Harry released her, stepping away to pull his shirt on. For the first time in days he realized how hungry he was. Once he acknowledged the hunger it roared in his stomach like a beast. He was torn, not wanting to let her go, but also needing to appease the hunger. Ginny seemed to understand the struggle, pulling away with a smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised.

Nodding, he took the tray to the bed and pace it down carefully, then turned and reached for her hand. He ate, forcing himself not to shovel it all down at once, and listened as Ginny updated him on the last few days. Not much had happened, but that was mostly a relief.

Once he was finished he placed the tray on the ground and lay down on the bed, pulling Ginny down gently beside him. She curled against him as he slid his arms around her, almost unable to believe it wasn't a dream. He wasn't happy, exactly—no, too many had died, too much had been lost for that—but at least he felt something. After days of cold, empty numbness it was a welcomed relief.

"We should go downstairs," she whispered, her fingers brushing his neck above the top of his shirt. "Before they send someone up to check on us."

A small trill of panic shot through him. Though their cuddling was certainly innocent enough, Harry realized that her brothers may not see it the same way. Especially now, with emotions running high. Sighing, he nodded and pressed his lips to her forehead for one long moment. Then he sat up, sliding off the bed with her hand still firmly clasped in his. Harry flicked his wand at the tray, muttering "_Locomotor_" before allowing Ginny to lead the way downstairs.

He vaguely remembered Ginny's voice, telling him in Gryffindor tower that they were going to her great-aunt Muriel's. That had to be where they were now as Ginny lead him through an unfamiliar house. Everyone was waiting for them, whether they knew it or not, in the sitting room. He could hear voices, not quite cheerful, but not totally laced with anguish, either. The chattering stopped when Ginny cleared her throat, standing with Harry in the doorway.

"Harry!"

An exclamation from the corner of the room was followed by a flurry of bushy brown hair. Hermione flung herself at him, leaving Harry no choice but to release Ginny's hand and hug his best friend. A small, breathless chuckle escaped as he hugged her tightly. Ron approached more calmly, waiting until Hermione had finished before pulling Harry into a gruff embrace.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, mate." He said, and then, much lower so only Harry could hear, "You had me worried there, Harry."

He nodded, pulling away and meeting Ron's stormy blue eyes. Emotions washed over him as Harry looked around the room. The Weasley's all looked up at him, clearly relieved that he was okay, but still obviously mourning Fred. No smiles greeted him from the familiar faces. He wouldn't have expected anything different.

Harry's chest tightened as his eyes scanned the room to find who he was looking for. Swallowing, he stepped tentatively forward, guilt washing over him as he stopped in front of George. For a long moment the older boy didn't look up. A painful lump formed in his throat, clogging up the words he desperately needed to speak.

"George," he croaked. Finally a pair of grief-stricken brown eyes met his. Slowly he crouched down, needing to be eye level, knowing he had to look into his friend's eyes as he said what he needed to say.

"George, I'm so sorry—Fred—" He barely choked back the sob. "I never wanted—Dammit, I never meant—"

"He's gone, Harry," the pain in his voice nearly shattered him. "Y-You-Know-Who is gone. You made sure of that. Fred's death wasn't in vain. He…he knew what he was doing. We all did. I don't blame you, Harry."

"You should."

Unexpectedly, George threw his arms around him. Harry gripped him desperately, unable to rid himself of the guilt. Fred. Remus. Tonks. They had all died for him, hadn't they?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, choked by the tears he could no longer fight. And then they were both crying, sobbing, holding each other painfully close, unable to release each other as they cried for their lost brother.

When he finally let go his fingers were numb from gripping George so hard. He had barely stood up, stepping back from George before Mrs. Weasley, tears in her eyes, pulled him to her chest.

"Oh Harry," she said softly, "my brave, brave boy."

Her gentle words only made him feel worse, only made the sobs come harder.

"Percy told us what happened," she said, pushing him away and bracing his shoulders in her hands. Her look was stern, despite the grief. "There was nothing you could do, Harry. N-nothing that any…anyone could do."

He nodded, even though he couldn't accept that. It was him that Voldemort had wanted. Him and no one else. It was his fault they all had died. Mr. Weasley joined his wife, slipping an arm around her waist and gripping Harry's shoulder comfortingly. Percy and Charlie both nodded cordially and it was all he could do not to start crying again. He clenched his jaw, doing his best to swallow down the guilt. Ginny quietly joined his side again, intertwining her fingers with his, guiding him over to where Ron and Hermione had been playing Wizard's Chess in the corner. Harry took in a deep breath and looked at the girl he was desperately, madly in love with. He looked at Ron and Hermione, who both had become his family. Whatever happened, they would all get through it just as they always had. Together.


End file.
